Watered Down
by Simply-Cath
Summary: The boys kick back and relax after a grueling late night rescue. Rating is for mild language and alcohol consumption


Of course, the Thunderbirds characters aren't mine and it's really no use suing me since I'm just a poor university student.

Anyway, I hope you all like this story, I think I got their ages right THIS time *LOL*. My apologies if I wind up butchering the architecture within Tracy Island, but hopefully it's not too noticeable.

Also, I'd like to take this opportunity to give props to my bestest buddy Steph for not only introducing me to Thunderbirds, but also contributing some much needed humour to this story.

Well, enjoy.

Watered Down

By: Catherine with contributions from Stephanie

Gordon Tracy wandered through his darkened home resisting the urge to run his hands through his already tousled hair. It still wasn't completely dry from the second shower he'd taken. Then again, he was still convinced that he reeked of oil. International Rescue's most recent call had been particularly grueling: there was an oil spill dangerously close to a marine wildlife research centre. While he and Virgil had to seal the leak from the outside using an experimental chemical that wouldn't ignite the fluid, another part of the hull had ruptured, leaving both Tracy brothers completely doused in the dark, viscous liquid.

Scott had had to not only rescue the crewmen stranded aboard the ship; he'd also been required to deploy a special chemical that would neutralize the oil without harming the ecosystem. Normally International Rescue didn't take care of that sort of thing, but only they and their advanced technology could stop the threat posed to the wildlife.

As always after a rescue, Gordon felt ripples of adrenaline coursing through his body. Usually that wasn't too big a problem, but this rescue had taken place in the early evening and gone on for several hours. It was nearly midnight and he could barely sit still let alone go to sleep. The heady feeling of a successful rescue was a lot like a few cups of Kyrano's coffee.

Shaking his head at the thought, Gordon went into the lounge. He knew the room well enough that he didn't bother turn on the lights. The full moon that hung in the sky and the many windows in the room provided enough illumination for him, so he used it to guide his way to the couch, which he flopped on to with a grateful sigh. This had definitely been the rescue from hell. Closing his eyes, he leaned the back of his head against the back of the couch and mumbled a plea for at least two hours' sleep before dawn. When he was sleep deprived, his mouth tended to work better than his brain. A small chuckle bubbled out of him as he thought of the single reprimand marring his naval career: insubordination. A buddy of his head always said 'Gord, you make talking back to people into an arm form, an art that's probably going to get you tossed out on your ear, but still an art.'

Scott Tracy stopped walking when he heard someone laugh. He'd been on his way back to his room. After nearly an hour of tossing and turning, he'd gone and gotten the book he was reading from where he'd left it in the garden that afternoon. Now curious as to the source of the sound, he walked towards the general location of it. Poking his head into the lounge, he could barely make out his brother's silhouette in the dark. "What are you doing in here, Gordon?" He asked as he entered and sat down across from his sibling.

"Couldn't sleep, you?"

The eldest Tracy brother held up his book, "Same," he replied. As he opened his mouth to suggest that it was time for both of them to head back to their rooms, Gordon rose and went to the china hutch on the far side of the room. Through the darkness, Scott could see his sibling reaching for, and eventually grabbing something. Before he could inquire, Gordon returned with a bottle full of dark brownish liquid and two glasses.

Without a word, the second youngest sat down on the couch and poured two glasses. He didn't hesitate as he downed one of them, making a face as though he'd swallowed pure lemon juice.

"Where did you find this?" Scott asked, picking up the bottle and examining the label. It was whiskey, the good kind, fifteen-year-old single malt all the way from Ireland. 

"Dad has a few of these around the island," Gordon said off handedly, snatching the bottle back from his brother before pouring another carefully measure shot. "He won't miss this one." A truly devilish grin that reminded Scott of too many disastrous adolescent adventures crossed Gordon's face, "Don't ask me how I know."

"All right," Scott said dubiously as he lifted his glass and sniffed the contents hesitantly. The smell alone was enough to get him drunk. He took a sip and it took all of his willpower to keep from sputtering it out. Why was it the good stuff always packed such a punch?

"Trust me," said Gordon, "This stuff will put you to sleep faster than any book."

"If you say so," replied Scott as he followed his brother's lead and drank the contents of hid glass down in a single gulp. "But I'm only having one more and that's it. You should do the same."

"Hey, no fair!" Protested Gordon, "I'm already one up on you."

Knowing he'd never quite understand his brother's argumentative natures, Scott sighed harshly and poured himself another glass. "All right, fine," he muttered, gasping as he swallowed another mouthful. "Now we're even. Two more for each of us and that's it."

"Whatever you say, Scott," Gordon drawled cordially as he poured the next shots for both of them.

"That is it!" Virgil Tracy hissed as he bolted upright in bed. For the past hour and a half he'd been trying to fall asleep, but he was still wound up from the rescue. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, putting on his slippers and reaching for his robe as he rose to his feet and walked out the door. For the first few steps he moved quietly so as not to disturb his father, who slept in the room across from his. Virgil decided to walk around the house a few times to try and work off some energy. If that didn't work, he would get a glass of milk or something.

Midway through his first lap, Virgil glanced at a wall clock and gave up. Sighing, he turned around and headed towards the kitchen. He was nearly there when he heard voices coming from the lounge. Curious, he turned in mid step and went to the source. He poked his head into the room and was surprised to see Gordon and Scott in the darkened room, leaning close to each other from opposite ends of the table and apparently engaged in a deep conversation.

Virgil kept silent as he approached. Though as he neared and noticed the bottle on the table between the two, he suspected that he could have thrown Thunderbird Two through the window without attracting their notice.

"I'm just saying," Scot declared, waving his left hand for emphasis. "Today's rescue was pretty good, y'now? We all got to do a lot of really hard work, you got covered in oil and that was pretty funny and nobody died and that's always a good thing."

"Yep, but I got covered in oil," Gordon lamented. "You're lucky. You never get covered in anything."

"I had to milk a cow once," Scott countered. "You ever have to milk a cow before? They kick. But today was a good rescue, a challenge as father would say."

"You're sounding more and more like him every day."

"That's not a bad thing. It's not a bad thing … is it?"

"Nah, Father's a good guy, but we do need you around. Having another him would just be confusing, because then we wouldn't have you around to tell us which is the real Father and which one is you because you'd be the other Father? KnowwhatImean?"

There was a long pause. "No."

Virgil didn't either and that was his cue to intervene. He approached his siblings, inadvertently startling them and said, "I think you boys ought to get some sleep now. It looks like you've have enough," he said gesturing to the bottle, the contents of which they'd managed to make an impressive dent in.

"Is that so?" Gordon countered, making several aborted attempts before rising awkwardly to his feet. "Well here's what I think." With that he sat down and poured himself another glass.

Virgil counted to ten in his head, heard nothing more from Gordon and said, "What?"

"Come on, Virg," Scott cajoled, "Have a drink with us. It couldn't hurt any. We'll make it a family thing. All we need's John … a-and the other one and it'd be all five of us."

"You mean Alan?" Virgil supplied.

"Yeah, wonder what he's up to?" Scott said, a studious frown drawing his eyebrows together.

"You've got it all wrong, Scott," Gordon said, gesturing out the window to the night sky with his hand. "John's the one in the space station. Gee, he's up there a lot, isn't he?"

"One little drink," Scott declared, ignoring Gordon entirely. "Have two drinks with us, then we'll all go to sleep. Deal?"

"Deal," Virgil muttered as he walked towards the cabinet and got a glass for himself. Judging by how quickly the bottle was emptying; he would only have to humour them for a few minutes.

Throughout Tracy Island, Alan, the youngest brother had garnered the well-earned reputation of being the lightest sleeper. A light rain could wake him up and keep him awake for hours. That was why Alan was heading towards the lounge in his pajamas, hair disheveled and grumbling under his breath. His room happened to be closest to the lounge and as he approached it, he felt his irritation growing. Despite his normally good nature, he did not like being awake at this early hour. It was almost two in the morning.

He cocked his head quizzically as he walked into the lounge in the middle of a drunken conversation. The scolding words he'd had died on his tongue as he watched closely.

Gordon was gesturing so emphatically with his right arm that he frequently threw himself off balance and nearly knocked down a vase. "This island needs two Fathers like a drowning man needs a beer. And I know lot about drowning because you have to drown in water and I … you know, work in water. I'm an aqua … aquat…. I'm an aqua man."

Virgil shook his head fiercely, like a child protesting his bedtime. "You're not Aqua Man," he said. "Aqua Man's a hero, Grandma told me about him. There can't be two of Aqua Man."

"Just like," Scott interrupted philosophically, "There can't be two of Father."

On that note, the three toasted and downed the contents of their glasses.

"What if you drown in beer?" Virgil asked, his question directed to Gordon.

As Gordon launched into an impressive diatribe answering the question Alan knew better than to wonder how this conversation had gotten started. Wondering led to thinking and thinking meant that he would have a devil of a time falling asleep again. If he could herd them off to bed without using any higher brain function, then he might get lucky and fall asleep without incident. "All right, fellas," Alan said through gritted teeth. "You've had enough to drink and I think it's time for you to go back to your rooms and sleep."

"No, you go to _your_ room and sleep." Not even a total lack of sobriety could quell Gordon's apparent genetic predisposition to argue with people.

"That," snapped Alan, "is exactly what I was doing before you woke me up!" He barely remembered to lower his voice to avoid waking anyone else. Although he toyed briefly with the idea of turning their sleep deprived father loose on them. Then he relented; his brothers were needed to operate their respective Thunderbirds. When Father got through with them, odds were good that they wouldn't be physically able to do that.

"Have a drink with us," Scott offered, gesturing to the half empty bottle. "There's still some left."

"Yeah, you're old enough now, aren't you?" Virgil added.

Lips thinning with irritation, Alan realized with dismay that he was wide-awake now. It would take him at least an hour to get back to sleep, provided the drunken carousing was kept to a minimum. "No thank you," he said. "I think the three of you have had enough to drink to last this family at least a month. Now all of you go to your rooms." With that, the youngest brother turned on his heel and started to walk out of the lounge.

He made it as far as the doorway before he heard Gordon addressing the others.

"Let 'im go, guys. He can't hold 'is liquor anyway."

Biting his lower lip, rolling his eyes and shaking his head nearly simultaneously, Alan turned around and stomped towards the open cabinet, snatching a glass. He knew that he was falling victim to a drunken attempt at manipulation, but now his honour was at stake. He flopped down next to Gordon and poured himself a glass of whiskey. Seeing as he was the most sober of the bunch, he refilled the others' glasses as well, in order to minimize the chances of one of them spilling it on the carpet.

"You re so much more fun than … what's his face? The other blond?" Scott pondered the question, tapping his chin with his index finger thoughtfully. "C'mon, Alan, you know, our other brother?"

"John?" Supplied the youngest, wincing at the sharp burn as the alcohol blazed a trail down his throat to settle warmly in the pit of his stomach.

"Yeah, John," Scott said, shaking his head. "What a grouch."

Alan couldn't help it, he started laughing and it took nearly all of his willpower to quiet himself.

"Yeah," Virgil continued, "We called him up to see if he wanted a drink. He told us to be quiet and not call him anymore. I dunno what his deal is."

"It's two in the morning," Alan pointed out. "You probably woke him up."

"If there were two of Father on the Island, wouldn't that mean there'd have to be two of everyone else?"

"Two of Brains," Virgil began to tick the names off on his fingers. "Two of me, two of you guys, two of other blond, two of Kyrano…"

"Two of Tintin," Alan added as he poured another glass of whiskey for himself. "Hmm…"

The next morning, Alan felt as though his head had swelled to twice its normal size. He couldn't ever remember having a hangover this intense. The first thing he'd done was stumble into the bathroom and down a few glasses of water. Although it appeared that he and the others had had the good sense to dispose of the empty whiskey bottle and put the glasses in the kitchen. Either that or Kyrano really deserved a raise. Those were the only two explanations his bleary mind could come up with for why the lounge was clean, only he had no memory of a cleanup.

Alan looked at the others who were present as their father read the morning paper. Tintin, Brains and Grandma weren't awake yet, but were due to wake up soon. Scott was staring at Jeff's plate of scrambled eggs, bacon and toast as though it was the vilest dish he'd ever seen. Gordon was leaning his elbow on the kitchen table, his hand resting on his forehead, effectively shielding his eyes from both the sunlight pouring in through the windows and Jeff's plate. Both Gordon and Scott had hot cups of coffee in front of them in lieu of any solid food.

The youngest looked up when he heard shuffling footsteps. Alan closed his eyes for a moment to stave off the nausea caused by the motion. But when he looked at Virgil, the pain he was in seemed petty by comparison.

Virg did a darned good impression of a reanimated corpse as he shuffled into his usual seat and mirrored Gordon's position. Normally impeccable, even first thing in the morning, Virgil's robe was completely askew and his hair seemed to stick out in every direction that gravity would permit. After a few moments of immobility, he lifted his head, took one look at his father's plate and shuddered. Seconds later, his head was down again.

Without being asked, Kyrano placed steaming mugs in front of Virgil and Alan before heading back into the kitchen. Virgil gazed down at the beverage and shuddered one more time.

"You boys don't look too good this morning," Jeff announced as he set down his paper. He seemed to peer at them individually and then shook his head as he reached for his knife and fork.

Alan was about to ask him why on Earth he was yelling, but then realized that his father's voice was simply echoing inside his head because of the awful headache he had. It was during mornings like this that he was reminded why he wasn't much of a drinker.

"That was a really tough rescue last night father," Gordon said, his voice hoarse and scratchy. The only part on his body that moved was his mouth. Then again, Alan mused; not even a hearty hangover could keep Gordon from speaking his mind. Perhaps something could be done about that, like a good sturdy piece of tape.

"Yeah," Alan added, realizing too late that he hadn't actually gone on the rescue. He couldn't even remember the details of it and sincerely doubted that the others could either. Everything after talking about two of Tintin and calling John to have a toast in his honour was something of a blur. Although he had an uneasy sense that he would be in trouble the next time he had to replace John on the space station.

"Alan was with us with spirits," Scott declared. "I mean, in spirit."

"Of course he was," Jeff said dryly, lifting up his paper again.

"He was!" Gordon protested and the four boys shared a collective wince. It was just a little too early in the morning to any type of coherent discussion. In fact, noise in general was not a nice thing.

"At least," Scott began in a tone that would effectively put an end to the discussion. He reached for his coffee and took a long gulp, grimacing, before concluding his thought. "We all got to sleep without any trouble."

For once, even Gordon didn't disagree.

THE END

Hope you all had fun reading it,

Catherine


End file.
